


can't escape the way I love

by Ann1215



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-19 05:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29745795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ann1215/pseuds/Ann1215
Summary: “Tsumu.” When Atsumu meets Osamu’s eyes, they’re swirling storms, ready to thunder. “How bad is it?”(A thought comes to mind: the way his legs had nearly given out underneath him just two hours ago when Sakusa had looked at him during training and said, “I might have pulled something in my back. Can you help me stretch?”)Atsumu shakes his head. “'S fine. I’m fine, Samu.”***Atsumu, and how loving from afar eventually fails him.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 19
Kudos: 269
Collections: Haikyuu!! Fics, Team MSBY Black Jackal Haikyuu





	can't escape the way I love

**Author's Note:**

> this was horrifically self-indulgent and the result of my fluff meter being temporarily broken after producing a substantial amount of fluff for skts fluff week hah hah hah
> 
> I don't think it's super angsty, but atsumu is being incredibly introspective and reticent about facing his feelings in this one, so I suppose look out for that

Atsumu has had a few loves in his fairly short life, strewn across his past, present and what he can see before him.

His family—his parents, his brother, and the people who have seen him at his worst all throughout high school, and saw him through the best and worst of it all.

Volleyball; always within reach, heavily intertwined with his very being even now, nearly two decades since he’d fallen in love with the squeak of shoes sliding on a court, the sting of it on his arms.

And a pale, dark-haired spiker with curly hair and stern eyes, and a future he can’t imagine.

Out of these three loves, one of them certainly does not love him back.

* * *

“Nice kill, Omi-kun!”

From across the court, Sakusa nods; it’s a far cry from the gangly boy all those years ago, an eternal frown resting on his face whenever anyone came nearer than five feet within his space.

Now, he acknowledges his teammates’ praise, even if it’s barely with the tilt of his head as he returns back to his position, Meian up to serve once more.

(Atsumu wonders, not for the first time, how fucked he would be if Sakusa ever decides to return any of the high fives he freely gives to everyone else.

And refuses to entertain that thought any further, because he already knows the real answer.)

It will never happen, and it’s fine. It means he’s safe.

Safe to watch, to observe how volleyball must also be one of Sakusa’s loves, the way he diligently gives it his all, to the point where he’d flop down right on the court after any particularly gruelling match, chest heaving along with everyone else’s panting.

Safe to indulge in a grin slightly wider than the one he sends to everyone else, an air-pat that Sakusa allows as they celebrate taking the set, a quick “that was a nasty serve, Omi-Omi”.

Safe to take Sakusa’s blunt “That’s one more than you had against the Tachibana Falcons last week,” and place it in a corner of his mind next to every single interaction Atsumu has saved of them ever since he realised he was in love with Sakusa.

Safe to love, from a distance.

He’s safe, from here.

His love is enough, from here.

* * *

Osamu doesn’t think so, but what does he know, anyway?

“More than you do, dipshit.”

Atsumu rolls his eyes, finishing off his first onigiri of the night. They’re at his brother’s restaurant, where Atsumu drops by on a weekly basis, mostly to mooch off of Osamu, but also because bickering with him seems to be one of the few things that helps to keep Atsumu’s mind off of any thoughts about Sakusa.

But he might have to find a new brother and another place for his onigiri cravings, because Osamu had taken one look at him the moment he sat down at the counter and said, “How fuckin’ long are ya gonna be moonin’ over whoever it is yer stuck on right now?”

And he’d known it would be useless to deny, but he still sticks his tongue out, and bites back with, “No idea what yer on about, Samu. Did ya eat one too many onigiri today? Is that why yer spoutin’ this bullshit?”

“There’s no such thing as too much onigiri, asshole,” Osamu scoffs, arms crossed as he stares at Atsumu. “And yer the one bullshittin’, Tsumu. The only time I've ever seen ya look this pathetic was when ya had a crush on both Kita-san and Aran-kun.”

A flush warms his cheeks, but he grabs the last onigiri Osamu had made, the bite slightly tainted with the taste of his own embarrassment. “Oi, ya had yer moments too, don’t just say it like it was me alone.”

_ “Tsumu.” _ When Atsumu meets his twin’s eyes, they’re swirling storms, ready to thunder. “How bad is it?”

(A thought comes to mind: the way his legs had nearly given out underneath him just two hours ago when Sakusa had looked at him during training and said, “I might have pulled something in my back. Can you help me stretch?”)

Atsumu shakes his head. “'S fine. I’m  _ fine, _ Samu.”

The silence is filled with his own chewing, as Osamu moves to start cleaning up behind the counter, mercifully letting him find the words to describe just how much he’s intending to lie to himself.

“It’ll pass like it did with Kita-san and Aran-kun,” he finally adds, words ladened with meaning.

Because if Atsumu cannot successfully lie to his own flesh and blood, then there would have been no hope of him doing all of this—the space, the walled fences, the way he hides his trembling hands as he touches Sakusa in the name of helping his teammate—in the first place.

* * *

Atsumu’s daily routine goes a little bit like this nowadays:

1\. Get woken up from a dream about Sakusa by his alarm.

2\. Brush his teeth. Set an internal reminder to visit the dentist soon (somehow he always forgets about it the moment he steps out of the door.)

3\. Leave for his morning jog. Fail to not think about how Sakusa is probably getting ready for the day too. Atsumu knows the man has an extensive stretching routine.

4\. Come back to his apartment. Shower. Make coffee. Takes out the leftovers from last night’s dinner and prepares them for lunch.

5\. When he leaves his apartment, Sakusa’s right outside his door as well. Any other thought flies out of his head as he greets the other man, and they end up walking to the MSBY gym together.

6\. Training. Trying and failing to stop looking at Sakusa every five minutes.

7\. Sometimes Atsumu catches Sakusa in a good enough mood, and they have dinner together.

8\. But more often than not, he goes home, cooks too much food for one, and keeps the rest for the next day.

9\. Go to bed. Try not to dream about Sakusa.

* * *

The first time Atsumu entertains the thought of telling Sakusa about his feelings, it had been about four months since he’d first realised.

_ (Realised. _ He doesn’t even want to think about how long he’d gone not knowing he was in love.)

It had been after a game—one they had lost, the few that they did.

Even now, Atsumu finds it an ordeal trying to make peace with the thoughts that he had done his best; it just wasn’t enough to keep the ball up on their side of the court. He’s a little louder about his disappointment these days, at least. A sigh through gritted teeth, as he accepts Meian’s clap on his shoulder. A bitter smile lingering on his lips at Shouyou and Bokuto’s attempt at a joke. Inunaki’s quiet, “We’ll fuck ‘em up next time,” is echoed with hums of agreement as they head to the locker room to wash up.

Despite all of this, Atsumu still spends enough time in the showers for the conversations to drift off as his teammates begin to leave, until he’s sure he’s the only one left.

But when he walks back out, Sakusa’s seated on one of the benches, tapping on his phone.

The white bandage around his left arm stands out starkly against his black hoodie and faded jeans, and Atsumu takes a moment to look at him before asking, “What’re ya still doin’ here?”

Sakusa doesn’t even glance up from his phone when he answers, “Today’s the last game of the week, and you still didn’t beat my record from last week.”

Something slowly clicks into place. “Wait, I still owe ya?!”

When Sakusa does deign to give him a look, his eyebrow is raised, lips slightly curled in victory. “I got seven last week. You only got your sixth service ace in that game just now.”

Of course Sakusa was still keeping count, despite the minor sprain that’s keeping him benched for another two weeks. Atsumu grumbles as he heads over to his locker to get dressed, but there’s nothing in this world that would probably take him away from the prospect of spending time with Sakusa.

So he agrees, puts on his clothes as quickly as he can without drawing suspicion, and lets Sakusa lead him to a familiar barbecue place ten minutes away from their building complex, where the elderly owner greets them with a fatherly grin and ushers them to their usual table. As Atsumu holds his palms out for the hand sanitizer and rubs his hands together, he listens to Sakusa’s observations about the game (read: barbed insults about both team’s fumbles), and retorts back as best as he can between trying not to stare at Sakusa’s fingers and mouth and the tip of his nose when he takes a quick sniff of the grilled meat before eating it.

His shoulders gradually lose their tension as dinner goes on, the clench in his jaw relaxing as he trades harmless banter with Sakusa, and by the time they’re walking back home, Sakusa says, “You’re not going to mope anymore, are you?”

Atsumu slams down on the choked feeling in his throat, love and affection and anger and gratitude threatening to slip past his control to leak into his voice.

“I don’t fuckin’ mope,” he retorts.

That night, he doesn’t even bother trying to stop himself from dreaming.

* * *

Atsumu has never chosen any of his loves.

Osamu is blood and flesh and—no one can ever know this—his greatest blessing; there had been no choice in the matter. Not even for the few from high school who had carved their own marks on Atsumu’s heart, hollowed it enough to make their own permanent homes in his chest where his twin permanently resides.

Volleyball was never supposed to stay long enough for him to fall. There had been other clubs, other sports, other paths had he just veered slightly to the left, but it was volleyball that had creeped into his thoughts, tightly curled around his chest until it manifested itself into the calluses of his palm, the soft pads of his fingers and the muscles that brought him out of Hyogo and onto the national stage of Japan’s volleyball.

His current love is somehow softer than his family or his sport.

Fluffy curls. Eyes like a starlit night, a distinct sheen only visible during certain times: a match and the  _ whip crack _ sound of a point scored, watching a dog video, or when Sakusa gets the last word in.

A pair of beauty marks, just begging to be marked by someone’s love.

_ (Hi—) _

Attention given, attention  _ earned _ now, when they stand next to each other, instead of trading rivaling glances across the court once upon a lifetime ago.

Yeah.

Atsumu didn’t stand a chance against Sakusa Kiyoomi.

* * *

“I’m proposing!”

The fitness centre is barely large enough to contain any sort of chaos that an MSBY member can come up with, but Bokuto’s announcement nearly bowls the four of them over, as Atsumu and Sakusa stare at him, while Shouyou gasps from his position on the weight machine.

“To Akaashi-san?!” he screeches, arms still stretched upwards as he keeps his weights up.

Atsumu barks out a laugh from where he's standing as Bokuto’s spotter. Sakusa, who’d been spotting Shouyou, sighs as he nudges the other man to drop the weights back in place. “Who else did you think he was going to marry?”

Shouyou hops back up on his feet, stretching out his arms as he grins. “I know that, I was just excited!” And he is; there’s a sparkle in his amber eyes at the thought of wedded bliss and happy unions, and he peppers Bokuto with questions like “How are you gonna propose? What does the ring look like? Are you gonna take Akaashi-san’s name?”

Questions that have flitted through Atsumu’s own mind whenever he thinks of a faceless stranger with a gold band around their finger.

(Nowadays, that face doesn’t seem to resemble a stranger’s as often.)

When there’s a lull between Shouyou’s enthusiastic questions and Bokuto’s even more enthusiastic answers, Atsumu cuts in. “Well, if ya need anythin’, I’ll be here ta help.”

He nearly misses Sakusa’s comment when Bokuto turns to him, teary-eyed and a grin too bright to look at directly. “Didn’t peg you for a romantic.”

Is it romantic? Atsumu thinks it’s inherently selfish, actually—to rather see someone else chase their love, to have a hand in that outcome just so he’d stop thinking about his own.

“I can be romantic if I wanted to,” is what he settles on, cataloguing Sakusa’s dry expression.

Beside him, Shouyou gasps again. “Really?! Could you help me out, Tsum-san? I’m planning mine and Tobio’s anniversary date—I asked Tsukishima and Yamaguchi but they told me to do something like bring him to the beach or something, but we already play beach volleyball every other week!”

Atsumu blinks. He hadn’t expected to be giving dating advice during their conditioning session, but Sakusa is still watching him.

“Any ideas then, Atsumu?”

_ Plenty, _ he thinks.  _ Enough to last a lifetime. _

He plasters on a smile that feels real enough as he ruffles Shouyou’s hair, and says, “You’ve come to the right person, Shou-kun,” and begins rambling about all of the thoughts he’d dreamed of ever since he’d understood what the heat in one’s cheeks, the sweat gathering in held hands and the brush of lips against skin had meant.

He talks and talks as Shouyou takes out his phone to jot down notes, listening intently, and Atsumu doesn’t even flinch when Sakusa huffs in disbelief at some of the more outlandish suggestions he throws out, because none of them are for Sakusa.

Atsumu knows that all too well, and so he continues to love like this, behind everyone else’s own affections.

* * *

“You’re not over ‘em yet, are ya?”

Maybe Atsumu should start reducing his visits to Onigiri Miya if he’s going to keep accosted like this.

“Leave it, Samu.”

His brother looks more tired than usual today; Atsumu had seen the last of the supper rush when he’d dropped by, and he’d been this close to just walking behind the counter to make his own meal, but Osamu would have whacked his head with a wooden spoon for that.

But the sign at the front door was turned around ten minutes ago, and Atsumu takes a bite out of the fatty tuna onigiri as he looks around the empty place, instead of his brother’s annoying face.

He hears Osamu sigh, and resists the urge to square up his shoulders. “If Kita-san hadn’t asked ya, would you have even told him about that crush ya had?”

Atsumu nearly throws his half-eaten onigiri at Osamu, but his ma had raised him to not waste food, so he settles with obnoxiously chewing it.

“That wouldn’t have even happened if you’d just shut yer big flappin’ mouth,” he retorts, grimacing at the memory of Kita catching him and Osamu talking about his feelings after practice once, when they’d thought the captain had already left.

“But ya started talkin’ normally with him again after that,” Osamu replies, and when Atsumu finally looks back at him, Osamu’s rubbing the bridge of his nose, the corners of his mouth downturned. “Well, as normal as ya can be.”

“That’s…” Different, but Atsumu doesn’t say that, because it doesn’t fully encompass it. His love for his upperclassmen was born out of admiration and a desire to earn a crumb of that admiration back—it spoke of tenuous bonds eventually transforming into something resembling blood.

He doesn’t want a blood bond with Sakusa.

Osamu watches him. Atsumu thinks he should sleep more, if the purple shadows under his eyes are an indication. “How long’s it gonna take before ya just spill over, Tsumu?”

“Nothin’s gonna spill, Samu.” How could it, when Atsumu feels positively bottomless with the love he holds for Sakusa? There is no end to the depth he drowns himself in every time he so much as looks at Sakusa, and sees the million ways he could love him—

If only he was a step closer.

Another sigh. Osamu starts making another onigiri, quick and careful. “You better tell ‘em, Tsumu. Or else I’m gonna find out and tell ‘em myself.”

Atsumu doesn’t doubt it. If Kita hadn’t overheard their conversation that day, Osamu would have told their captain, if only so he doesn't have to watch Atsumu crack under all of the love he was holding in.

Osamu’s seeing the same cracks right now, he knows.

“Just hold yer horses. I’ll say somethin’ when the time’s right.”

His brother grumbles something along the lines of it never being the right time, but Atsumu’s verbal declaration, whether he’d willed to or not, stirs something in him enough that the metaphorical space between him and Sakusa’s knowledge of his feelings decreases by an atom of his wavering, no longer so staunch in his resolve to love from a distance.

* * *

He gets back to thinking about telling Sakusa.

These days, he dreams a little less, but only because the real Sakusa seems to be in the periphery of his vision more often now, their dinners looking less like rewards and punishments over a competition of service ace streaks, and more of the “They make a real mean  _ nikujaga,” _ and  _ “Yakitori _ again, Atsumu?” variety.

But any intention of continuing to fail in lying to himself about Sakusa flies out of his mind the night they celebrate Bokuto and Akaashi’s engagement.

Neither of their apartments were big enough to hold half of the V League, as well as their old high school friends and rivals, so they had booked out a rooftop bistro for the evening, one of Atsumu’s recommendations, courtesy of Osamu.

The crowd is a noisy, rowdy bunch, but it’s impossible to not be loud as they celebrate Bokuto and Akaashi—both of them are visibly glowing, even in the thick of their friends surrounding them, basking in the promise of a life to be spent together, side by side.

Atsumu doesn’t realise what face he’s actually making when he looks at them until Sakusa slides next to him where he’s resting against the edge of the rooftop, and says, “I thought you liked these things.”

“What do you mean?”

From the corner of his eye, Sakusa shrugs. There’s a half-empty glass in his hand, but Sakusa barely seems to be aware of it, gaze sweeping across the people before them. “Proposals. Weddings. The union of people who are too in love to even notice anyone around them.” As if on cue, Bokuto’s booming voice echoes across the place as he yells, “I can’t wait to be your husband, Akaashi!”

Atsumu snorts. Maybe there’s something to be said about not making a fool of one’s self in the name of romance.

(He’d do it in a heartbeat, though. If Sakusa asked.)

“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” he replies. 

Sakusa hums. “Then why are you crying?”

What?

When Atsumu touches his face, there’s undeniable wetness on his cheeks, and to his horror, he’s even sniffling a little.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and he pats down his pockets, even though he knows all he has in them are his wallet and keys. “Give me a minute, I’m just gonna find some tissue—”

But then there’s a handkerchief pressed against his chest, and Atsumu knows even without looking that it’s Sakusa’s.

“Clean yourself up,” Sakusa tells him. Atsumu can’t tell what expression he’s making underneath that mask, but his eyes are narrowed, like he’s trying not to grimace at Atsumu’s less than pristine state. “If Bokuto sees you, he’s going to think you’re upset, and that might upset Akaashi-san as well.”

Atsumu doesn’t think Bokuto will even notice, but he takes the handkerchief anyway with a quiet “Thanks,” and wipes his face as best as he can, mumbling an apology before he blows his nose with the shreds of his dignity.

“I’ll wash it when I get home,” he says, voice sounding a little nasally as he puts the handkerchief away. “Um. Thanks for that, Omi-kun.”

But Sakusa shakes his head. “You didn’t answer me, Atsumu.”

In this moment, Atsumu immediately understands that if he abandons the lie he’s failed to tell himself over the last year, the distance he’d carefully curated will be eradicated tonight.

He won’t be safe anymore.

When he glances up, Sakusa’s eyes are piercing and expectant, gaze unrelenting as he takes in Atsumu’s probably-dishevelled features.

It’s the look in those midnight eyes that eventually prompts Atsumu to take a step closer to the edge.

“I want that,” he answers in an exhale, plain and simple. “Or maybe not exactly what they have. But I want someone ta come home to. Someone beside me as I dream. Someone ta eat the dinner I make ‘cause fer some godforsaken reason, I always end up cookin’ too much fer myself.”

He keeps staring at Sakusa as he adds, “It doesn’t really sound all that romantic, but I think about it a lot.”

The mask does a fantastic job of hiding what Sakusa might be feeling right now, and Atsumu barely stops himself from fidgeting on the spot as the quiet stretches between them.

And then, Sakusa tilts his head slightly. “There is a ‘someone’, then, if you think about it this much.”

Atsumu swallows, and rips his gaze away. Watches the edge start to disappear underneath his feet. “I’d tell ya if you asked, Omi-kun. When have I ever lied to ya?”

Without missing a beat, Sakusa answers, “You said Meian-san accidentally drank from my water jug the other day.”

It pierces the ice that had started to surround Atsumu’s chest, and he bursts out into a laugh, vaguely noting the way Shouyou is currently trying to hug both Bokuto and Akaashi. “I mean about the stuff that really matters.”

“Hygiene is an important issue.” Sakusa doesn’t let the silence settle this time as he shifts, until he’s properly facing Atsumu. “Tell me, then. Who’s the person that’s been occupying your mind so much?”

Atsumu doesn’t know why Sakusa sounds like he’s trembling a little, but when he finally looks back up again, he plunges right down into the abyss, a watery smile pulling at his lips.

“It’s you, Omi,” he whispers at last, a deafening roar in his ears, vision beginning to blur again.

Eons pass before Sakusa raises his hand between them, closer than Atsumu knows what to do. “I make you cry?” he asks hoarsely.

He shrugs. “You make me smile a hell lot more, so that makes up fer it, I guess.”

“Atsumu,” Sakusa says, and then stops. The hand pulls back, but Atsumu only gets to mourn its loss for a moment before it’s tugging down Sakusa’s mask, and Atsumu doesn’t know why or what’s happening, but it doesn’t mean he won’t greedily take his fill of Sakusa’s face right now, lit by the moon and the soft, warm outdoor lights of the bistro as he stares back at Atsumu. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He’s still falling.

“It was just easier to show ya.” In tosses, in companionship over meals, in the way Atsumu carries Sakusa’s favourite brand of wet wipes and in the spaces where he thinks his love might grow unnoticed.

Sakusa blinks, and then he’s shaking his head, moving to run a hand through his curls only to realise he was still holding on to his glass, looking more than a little distressed as he places it on the ledge before staring straight at Atsumu. “Have dinner with me tomorrow night.”

“Omi?” Atsumu raises an eyebrow.

“We can eat out,” Sakusa continues, like he hadn’t heard Atsumu. “Or you can cook, and I’d… There won’t be any leftovers, at least.”

_ No. _

Atsumu clutches the first word he can think of, and chokes out, “You?”  _ Do you think of me that way too? Did you keep your own measure of distance? _

_ (Are you choosing me?) _

“Maybe not… Not as much as you do right now,” Sakusa admits, but then there’s a tugging on his sleeve, and when Atsumu glances down, there are pale fingers clutching fabric, inches away from his bare wrist. “But can you—can you give me time to catch up?”

The abyss clears.

Atsumu hadn’t chosen him—but to be chosen in this way feels like a new kind of love, and he welcomes it with a smile that’s a little too wide, ready to meet open arms on the other side of that distance.

"Okay. I'll be right here."

**Author's Note:**

> this is like my 3rd fic in a week that has confessions in it, maybe I'm just into them right now? anyways hope you liked this one!


End file.
